


To Thaw a Frozen Heart

by baileymermaid95



Series: The Conduct of Life [2]
Category: Final Fantasy XV, Kingdom Hearts
Genre: AkuRoku - Freeform, Alternate Universe - Medieval, Eventual Happy Ending, M/M, Non-Consensual Touching, Poor Roxas needs a hug, Prince!Axel, Rape/Non-con Elements, Roxas Whump (Kingdom Hearts), Sexual Content, Slave!Roxas, Slavery, Slow Burn, Torture
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-28
Updated: 2020-06-20
Packaged: 2021-03-01 01:07:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 3
Words: 11,037
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23366674
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/baileymermaid95/pseuds/baileymermaid95
Summary: My mother liked when I smiled. She said one smile from me could light up the night sky it was so bright. She hated to see me cry, and constantly endeavored to pull a smile out of me once more: using any tactic in her arsenal to elicit even the slightest of grins.I didn’t smile much these days. I didn’t show many feelings at all, in fact. I didn’t see the point in it anymore. Since the night of my fifteenth birthday, the royals I served under proved time and again that they delighted in my suffering. Sometimes it seemed as though their sole purpose in bedding me was to elicit sounds of distress.For what purpose? I knew not. It brought them some sort of sick pleasure, I supposed. I refused to give in to them. They were not worth my tears, so I held them back. I would not give them the satisfaction of my screams. And honestly? It made everything else easier.Detaching myself from all emotion allowed me to slip away from myself entirely. It was almost as though the horrific acts were being experienced by someone else, and I merely witnessed them.Eventual AkurokuPart 2 of 3
Relationships: Axel/Roxas (Kingdom Hearts)
Series: The Conduct of Life [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1680586
Comments: 8
Kudos: 9





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> No guarantee when I will have more chapters posted for you guys, but I figured since we are currently in the midst of a global quarantine, I could be nice and edit a few of the finished ones for you and get them up here. You're welcome!

_3 years later…_

The carriage bumped along the cobbled streets of Alandros, Alexandria’s capital city. Throngs of citizens lined the central throughway, trying to get a glimpse of who resided inside the buggy bearing the royal coat of arms. Many whispered speculations sounded through the crowd, but the gathered individuals wanted confirmation.

The wooden wheels clacked in time with the horses’ hooves, heightening the anticipation in the streets. Little did they know, the humans inside the carriage did not share their same enthusiasm.

“You don’t have to look so glum, ya know,” the blonde raised an eyebrow at his best friend. “You could at least pretend you’re happy to be home.”

The young prince leaned against the window, head resting in his palm. He barely spared his companion a glance before returning his gaze to the view out the window. The redhead could say with absolute certainty that he was not thrilled to return to his birthplace. Not even the radiance of the sun reflecting off the colorful and often creative wares of the marketplace could brighten his mood.

The prince didn’t notice his friend leaning closer until the boys’ fingers dug into his cheeks forcing his mouth into a smile. “Come on, Axie-poo. Be happy!” the blonde encouraged. Axel swat his buddy’s hands away with a sneer.

“Come off it, Demyx,” Axel spat. “We’ll see if you’re still this excited after you meet my father.”

After spending the last five years purposefully avoiding Alandros with the excuse of being away at boarding school and exploring the world, Axel could care less about returning to the stifling castle he grew up in. He wanted nothing more than to permanently escape his sadistic father’s iron fist.

_Four months,_ he reminded himself. Only four months until he no longer had to answer to anyone: not his father or mother, not the generals or advisors, not even his priest will be able to order him around. The only unfortunate part was that those four months would be spent in the stupid Castle of Alexandria, official residence of House Alexandros.

Prince Axel Amarant Alexandros of Alexandria loathed his family from the time he was old enough to understand the cruelty of his parents. Axel didn’t care about becoming king; he didn’t want the power and responsibility, didn’t care to rule over people, nor did he want any of the luxuries that came with the position. No, all he wanted was the opportunity to travel further: face new challenges and experience what the rest of the world had to offer. Perhaps even run away to the mountain home he spent his summers in with his friends.

The boarding school he attended in Radiant Garden taught a myriad of gentlemen: primarily from well to do families with money enough to send them abroad. Despite the multitude of hoity toity bastards, Axel fell in with a pretty chill crowd. All his friends were relatively down to earth guys; none of them cared much about their upbringing or background which allowed for a free flow of communication and sharing of ideas.

It allowed Axel to grow into himself and develop his own principles, all of which led him to the decision that he had no desire to lead people. Honestly, he would be happy enough to kick back and let someone else be in charge. Unless that person was his father.

“Wow, this place is gorgeous,” Demyx stared in awe at the approaching palace. The sandstone and red granite walls loomed in the distance, growing ever larger as they closed the distance to the front gates.

The castle walls came into view far quicker than Axel wanted them to. He grumbled to himself. This was his first time home in five years. He wondered how much had changed, if anything. He hoped beyond hope that his reunion with his parents would not go as horribly as he feared.

“Are you ready?” the blonde inquired as the carriage rolled up to the front staircase of the palace. “Remember, the people are expecting a _dashing_ prince.” Axel rolled his eyes, but mentally prepared himself to portray the persona his public expected. He could play the part just a little bit longer… he hoped.

A footman opened the door, revealing the two men to the cheering crowd. Axel waved to his subjects, and flashed a toothy grin his teeth sparkling a dazzling white. He only half expected to see the King and Queen waiting for him at the top of the stairs, but alas, only the plebeians and servants greeted him and his vassal.

Not that Axel much cared, but one would think that when the soon-to-be crown prince returned home after five years abroad, the king and queen might show an ounce of care and show up to greet him. Not that Axel believed this reunion would be a joyous one no matter where it happened.

Axel pushed red tufts back from his face and huffed. “They couldn’t even be bothered to show up. Typical.”

Demyx waved to the last of the crowd before following the prince up the stairs and into the red stone and marble entryway. “Aren’t you thrilled? I thought you were avoiding them,” the blonde questioned.

Axel shot him an exasperated glare. “I am,” he bit, his white teeth flashing dangerously. “I need to talk with my father about the outlying cities before his meetings, though.”

Demyx solemnly nodded his understanding. Their travels from Radiant Garden sent them through some of the smaller towns on the outskirts of Alexandria. The influence of the capital did not always reach that far, as evidenced by the rampant thievery they encountered.

Demyx set a hand on his friend’s shoulder, rousing him from the depths of thought. The blonde musician offered a smile and a half-hug, “I’ll see you at dinner. Worry about your subjects, okay? Don’t let him get to you.” Axel smirked in return, glad for the reassurance.

After bidding his friend goodbye and leaving him in the hands of a personal servant who would show him to his new quarters, Axel made his way to his parents’ royal chamber. Better to get this over with now and not have to interact with his mother or father again until the evening.

Axel eyed the wooden double doors, far more anxious than he expected to be. He straightened out his front having thrown the sash bearing his family’s crest on over his vest and shirt. He wanted to look the part of the presentable prince so as to give his parents less reason to disapprove of him.

Steeling his nerves, Axel rapped once on the door before opening it and peering inside. He intended to announce his presence and ask for permission to enter when the sight before him choked back all words. Axel froze in the doorway, unsure of what he was seeing and how he should react.

The room looked generally the same, having not changed much in his five year absence. The deep red silk bedcovers spread over black Egyptian cotton sheets, the gold and gules brocade wallpaper, and velvet curtains all still reflected the opulence the royal family reveled in. None of the rich decorations fazed Axel: though the sight upon the bed wracked him to the core.

Logically, Axel knew his parents must have engaged in intercourse to create him. However, no child wishes to walk in on their parents fornicating, naked bodies slapping together in such a primal and borderline animalistic act.

More traumatizing, though, was the sight that met Axel when he entered the bedroom: his parents participating _as a threesome_. The redheaded prince quite honestly tried not to analyze the compromising situation, but his brain processed the sight quicker than he wished.

A pair of legs was flung over the king’s shoulders, his hips moving in rhythm with the body he mounted. From what Axel could tell, his mother’s… rather naked body perched over top what he could barely identify as the head belonging to the backside his father enjoyed.

In his frozen moment of disgust, it did not register to Axel that the small blonde boy trapped beneath his parents did not seem as though he enjoyed himself even a smidge. In fact, his face revealed no emotion whatsoever. Under much different circumstances, Axel might have questioned the young man’s lack of expression, but he was a bit distracted by the boy’s participation in his parents’ adultery.

“What in the nine circles of hell is going on in here?” Axel demanded once he regained his senses. Three pairs of eyes suddenly fell upon his form in the doorway.

All motion ceased for the brief moment it took for Amarant to appraise his adult son before gripping the pale boy even tighter and thrusting his hips once more into the human pinned underneath him.

Axel couldn’t say he was necessarily surprised. His father didn’t seem to care when he left, so why would he care that he returned home? Rage bubbled up within Axel. His parents couldn’t be decent, moral human beings long enough to have a conversation with their only son?

Apparently not.

“Did you need something?” Amarant examined the prince, a judgmental gaze raking up and down his one and only child.

An inquisitive pair of blue eyes peeked out from under the Queen. The purest cerulean Axel had ever seen in his life: innocence evident despite the compromising position. Emotion swam through the ocean of blue, but a steel wall slammed shut before Axel could identify what it was.

The Queen laced her fingers through the boy’s hair, forcing him to resume the lewd actions he performed for her. The deadened eyes lingered on Axel for a moment longer before closing in resolution.

Axel almost shot back a biting response to the mother and father ignoring him, but chose instead to retreat in disgust. “Nothing, never mind,” he spat, slamming the door behind him.

…

Demyx came from a family with status, but being the son of a Lord did not necessarily mean they had any money left to their name. He’d never seen such luxurious accommodations before in his life, and reveled in the newfound opulence of his best friend’s home.

The blonde observed the red and gold room, taking in the over the top beauty. Even the amount of storage was over the top. After unloading all of his stuff, Demyx’s belongings hardly filled the wardrobe: they did not even begin to broach the trunk at the foot of the bed or the drawers of the dresser.

He flopped onto the mountain of pillows provided for his comfort and wondered how he should spend the remainder of his afternoon. Demyx suspected he would not see the prince until later in the day as the redhead mentioned his presence would be expected at numerous meetings before dinnertime.

Demyx caught the gleam of his sitar case out of the corner of his eye. The instrument was his most prized possession, and he would likely take it into his grave with him. At a young age, the blonde discovered his passion for music and took instantly to the stringed sitar: an instrument native to his home country of Sanubia.

Demyx gingerly removed his beloved music maker from its black case, and sat on the chaise preparing to play. However, before he was able to pluck even his first note, the prince burst into his friend’s new quarters startling the blonde out of his concentration. Visibly fuming with anger, Axel stalked toward the musician.

“I can’t believe this!” he bellowed, storming back and forth across the lavish carpet. Demyx placed his sitar back in the case, but remained seated. He knew from experience that Axel needed to work off his steam before anything or anyone could possibly console him.

“Believe what?” Demyx demanded in a gentle tone so as to not accidentally redirect Axel’s anger onto himself.

Axel threw his arms in the air, gesturing vaguely. “This!” he reiterated. “Them. Ugh!!” The prince flopped down on the trunk at the foot of the bed in a rather un-princely manner, and shoved his face into his hands.

Demyx did not bother to ask his friend what was wrong: the redhead would spill the details when he was ready to and not a moment before. That’s the way all their discussions of this nature seemed to go, and it was routine to the blonde by now.

The prince huffed, shoulders tensing up, then deflated. Demyx took in the sight of his usually well put together friend looking so defeated. He was not sure how, or even _if,_ he could help.

Axel ran a hand through his hair then started, “Sorry about that. They just really know how to grate my nerves,” he laughed for the benefit of the musician. “I just forgot how much I can’t stand them is all.”

Demyx recognized his friend’s needs perhaps better than the redhead himself, and gathered Axel into a hug without a word. “Thanks buddy. I just got myself worked up cause my parents were having a threesome, but honestly? I’m not all that surprised. They would take a pig into their bed if it offered.”

Axel pulled away from his friend’s embrace to look the man in the eye. “Demyx,” his tone dripped with loathing, “I don’t know if I’ll be able to handle being back in the place. Not for another four months.”

Now it was Demyx’s turn to laugh for the benefit of his pal, “What are you talking about, Axel? You’re the big, strong heir apparent of Alexandria. You can handle anything.”

The blonde’s smile was infectious, causing the prince to laugh as well. “Besides,” Demyx continued, “this is the perfect opportunity to show everyone who’s in charge. Give them a piece of your mind.”

Axel grinned at his school mate, their conversation dissolving into friendlier topics.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There's a little bit of torture and a lot a bit of yelling in this chapter. Be warned!

My eyelids drooped a bit as I stared up at the unforgiving chandelier I’d come to know far too well within the last three years. Eighteen years old did not feel much different from fifteen when this nightmare began. The scenery hadn’t changed much either.

This position was a familiar if unwelcome one.

I sighed internally as increasingly scandalous actions were performed on my body. Thankfully, I’d long since learned to detach myself from it all and retreat inside my head until the King had his fill and was finished with me. I taught myself how to remain passive and not react to anything he or his queen did in order to avoid potential punishments.

It worked well. As well as it could, at least, when you’re the personal fuck toy of the most powerful man in the world. Somehow I doubted this was what my mother had in mind for my life.

I allowed my eyelids to fall shut as I reminisced about my time with my mother. I envied the innocence I used to have and the easy joy of my life before my mother’s death. These days, my life was a consistent monotony of fucking, sleep, and servitude. Occasionally there were beatings thrown in just to spice things up a bit.

So long as I didn’t make trouble, it was livable. I just needed to follow their rules (dumb as they may be) until they finally let me go. Or I die. Whichever comes first.

My thoughts were interrupted by a knock at the door. Either Amarant and Larxene didn’t hear it or didn’t care because their motion never ceased. Not even when a young man who looked suspiciously like the two of them opened the door.

This must be the prince. He left for boarding school long before I’d been granted permission to venture beyond the harem hallway, so I’d never met him. If my guess was correct, he was home for his upcoming naming ceremony where he would be officially declared heir apparent.

I peeked out from beneath the Queen’s formidable thighs to appraise the man standing awestruck in the doorway. Something about him looked oddly… soft. His eyes didn’t carry the same sharp edge of disgust that his parents’ did.

I refused to let myself be fooled, though. Anyone raised by these two sadists had to be equally as horrible. I couldn’t let myself hope he was somehow kind.

Between one second and the next, as if to prove my suspicions correct, a flame lit deep inside the young prince. He face contorted into one of deep loathing as he spit out curses at his parents, demanding to know what was happening.

Motion ceased for but a moment before the King dug his nails into my hips and pushed harder. I grit my teeth without revealing anything outwardly. Was the King trying to prove a point? Because I would really appreciate it if he did so without hurting me. Not that he knew how to do anything without hurting me.

I wondered for a moment what kind of King the young redhead would be someday. If he would show the same level of cruelty toward his servants as his father. If a lack of remorse would become the basis for a majority of his decisions.

I hoped not. The world could use a little more kindness in it. I prayed for a future in which people didn’t have to live in fear. People like me…

To my dismay, the look of disgust shot my way said everything. He wasn’t kind. He wasn’t even sympathetic to the plights of others. He’s as cruel as the man who sired him.

Larxene gripped my locks between thin, spindly fingers and pulled hard. “Keep going,” she hissed, rocking against my face. I resigned myself to continuing with the far too familiar action of eating out our Queen, barely noticing when the young prince slammed the door behind him and stormed off.

I felt like I’d missed my chance to get out of the less than ideal situation. If the royal family wanted to talk, then they should talk. I paused my oral ministrations to suggest to the prince’s parents, “Perhaps this isn’t the best time for this. Maybe you should speak with –“

Amarant did not give me the chance to finish my statement.

For a moment, everything froze. The King and Queen halted their movement, exchanging a brief glance. Even the air itself seemed to still in anticipation of the upcoming horror. The calm lasted the hair’s edge between one breath and the next before everything exploded.

I found two meaty hands wrapped around my throat before I even realized he’d pushed his wife off the bed to get to me. My eyes watered; the light from the swinging chandelier flashing back and forth across the enraged features of the redheaded man hovering above me.

I choked, trying to get away. I writhed and whined against the weight of the King, hoping to buck him onto the floor to join his wife. “Did you just tell me what to do?” he sneered. I didn’t bother trying to defend myself because he wouldn’t believe me even if I had the ability to speak at that moment. He’d already made up his mind.

“Nobody tells me what to do. Least of all my _bitch_ ,” he roared, using his might to fling me in the direction of his favorite little _torture_ room. I scrambled to my feet as quickly as possible though my legs felt as if they’d been replaced with jelly.

The King thundered toward me, a swirling frenzy of fury and abhorrence. Though I knew it was a futile attempt, I made an effort to dodge his wrath anyway. My feeble limbs betrayed me, sending me sprawling at his mercy.

With a swift bend, Amarant seized my ankle in his meaty grasp and pitched me into his beloved back room.

From what I've learned over the years, most people have toys when they are younger. I had my Teddy Bear to play with, and most children own dolls or toy swords to use as they fabricate adventures. However, it seems as though when you are a king, you have no need for dolls and toy swords any longer; rather, Amarant preferred playing with slaves and torture devices. And what a collection he had.

The array of tools housed in the back room of the royal chambers had only grown since I began my service to its residents. Various knives, whips, chains, and other assorted pointy objects lined the walls. Larger, more formidable constructs of torment took up the majority of the floor space, leaving only a small area in the center of the room for a medical table and a pair of dangling chains.

Amarant clearly had something in mind for me as he wasted no time dragging me into the center of the room and locking my wrists into the handcuffs hanging from the ceiling. This particular set of cuffs was connected to a chain that determined the height at which I hung. Currently, my toes could barely brush the floor. This put quite a bit of strain on my wrists, though I got the distinct feeling the king didn’t much care if he caused me discomfort.

My eyes tracked him about the room. He said nothing as he slid some sort of bulky entity into place behind me. I twisted my body to get a look at it, but was stopped by the king forcing my ankles into their own cuffs: attached to whatever loomed behind me, I supposed.

None of this could bode well for me: nothing in this room ever had. Everything connected to this redheaded fiend spelled nothing but anguish for me. It seemed as though the arrival of the prince would mean much of the same.

Too late I realized what the rattling of chains meant. Too late I scrambled to leverage myself on something, _anything_ to steady my balance. Too late I remembered just how sadistic Amarant could be.

Blood exploded in my mouth; I bit my tongue trying to hold back the scream that bubbled forth anyway. I cursed gravity and my own distracted curiosity for my pained fate as the king released the taut chains suspending me, causing me to fall onto his modified Judas Chair.

I will admit it could have been worse had he not modified the medieval torture device, but that did not mean it didn’t hurt like hell. He had the triangle slimmed down to cause more penetration and less anal tearing, but the final dimensions still resembled the size of a grown man’s fist.

I’m just saying, that if you have never had a grown man shove his fist up your ass, I would for sure, ten out of ten, _not_ recommend it.

Through the brimming tears that I refused to let fall, the fire behind the King’s eyes bore into me. “You are nothing but a worthless slave,” he spat, turning to leave, “don’t you ever tell me what to do.”

The door thumped shut behind him, trapping me in darkness. All I could do at this point was try to pull myself up by my chains to give my poor abused backside a reprieve, and wait for him to eventually return and release me.

…

Aerith was the kind of woman everyone instinctively trusted. She came to the palace of her own accord, and held a place of great regard in the minds of servants and slaves alike. She knew how to do her job, and did it well: even taking the time to teach young servants the ropes out of the kindness of her heart.

Rarely did anyone dare give her a task that did not hold the upmost importance for fear of insulting her reputation and skills. As a paid servant, she held the right to quit at any moment, and no one on the castle grounds wanted that. This meant that while they respected her, many tiptoed around her to avoid potentially being the reason she left.

Though Aerith would never admit it to any of her fellow staff, she would never give up on their account. Rather, if any sole individual was going to be responsible for her early retirement, it would be the young prince.

While she loved the redheaded spitfire as if he were her own, she was also the first to admit he could be quite a handful. Aerith practically raised the babe as his mother could not seem to be bothered with the task. He had a knack for finding mischief even in the most unlikely of places, and kept the young attendant on her toes; she’d done everything from chasing after a muddy young prince who refused to bathe to allowing the lad to cry into her lap after a particularly barbed argument with his father.

Needless to say, the brunette was not altogether shocked to hear her former charge had caused quite the ruckus only hours after his arrival. Rumors wove through the halls the way a shrew burrows into the ground to avoid being prey.

Some tittering young members of the staff claimed to see him storming out of the royal chamber; others reported hearing him yelling not too long ago from the guests’ wing. Suspicions and speculations were spoken as fact, and none dare confirm or deny the allegations.

Aerith rapped her knuckles against the door the young esquire Terra informed her belonged to the prince’s school friend for the duration of his stay. She knocked twice before entering, not bothering to wait for a grant of admittance.

Aerith could not have prepared herself for how drastically the once adolescent prince had changed. His years at school had transformed him into a fine young gentleman. Though she could not in good conscience agree with his choice to tattoo himself, Aerith generally approved of the changes to her former charge.

When Axel initially left for school, he almost stood even with Aerith; he now towered well above her, and even dwarfed his blonde friend. He did not seem uncomfortable with his height, however. His stance was regal as one would expect from a crowned prince.

It seemed as though he still refused to act like a prince; propriety be damned as he scooped his former attendant into a warm embrace. Aerith was secretly grateful for his lack of decorum as she clung tighter to the boy she raised. Tears gathered in the corners of her eyes, and she wished this moment would never end.

The other young man cleared his throat to get their attention. “Um… Axel?” he motioned to Aerith. He looked awkward, though for his part, Aerith doubted he’d seen royalty hugging a member of the serving staff before.

Axel jumped, ever the excitable puppy, before grabbing his former nanny by the wrist and dragging her into the room to introduce her to his friend. “Aerith, this is Demyx,” he motioned to the blonde, “my best friend, travel companion, and basically the only reason I stayed sane at school.”

Demyx waved, though the confusion still showed across his features. “And Demyx,” Axel stepped aside to give his friend a full view of the brunette, “this is Aerith: my nanny.”

Either the name or the description of her role sparked some sort of recognition in the blonde because he rushed forward almost immediately to shake her hand: awe evidenced on his face. His eagerness rivaled the prince’s own as he took her hand in his own.

“Axel has told me so much about you. The way he talks, you sound like some kind of legendary hero!” Demyx’s blue eyes lit with wonder.

She giggled. That sounded entirely like something the prince would say. “I suppose it took some superhuman powers to change those diapers of his,” she joked.

The redhead crossed his arms and pouted, “Yeah, well, it’s great to see you too.” Aerith wondered if perhaps he hadn’t changed so much.

“How have you been, my prince?” She allowed the corners of her mouth to lift in a soft smile. “I trust your travels were well?”

The two boys shared a knowing look as the mood in the room plummeted. Axel shook his head, “No, our travels were not well. That’s part of what I was hoping to speak with my father about. Though is seems as though he has more _important_ things to do with his time.”

Aerith knew well the young prince’s thoughts on his father. She could recall numerous occasions when she lent an ear to everything from the boy’s criticisms of how the King chose to rule to complaints about the man’s behavior outside of court. The fiery young man did not respect his father, and did not seem to care who knew it.

The woman opened her mouth to prod for more details when a heavy knock sounded at the door. Axel, being the epitome of etiquette, shouted, “What?” rather than answering the door. Aerith naturally took it upon herself to give him a solid _thwack_ to the head. Axel at least had the decency to look sheepish.

The messenger shuffled back and forth on his side of the closed door, unsure of how to proceed. He inevitably decided to deliver his message regardless. “Your Highness,” he began, “the King wishes to see you.”

…

His position as Royal Secretary offered Zexion the opportunity to sit in on every official (and unofficial) meeting that required documentation. His job was to transcribe conversations and keep track of decisions to be relayed to other government officials not present at the time.

The Royal Library contained innumerable volumes of minutes from court hearings, war meeting, and something Zexion could only ever seem to describe as… _squabbles_. In theory, these were meetings of the state: gatherings intended for high ranking officials to discuss pertinent matters with their king.

In reality, such meetings often ended up as shouting matches between the fiery prince and his equally enraged father. Based upon the rumors Zexion was privy to regarding that morning’s proceedings, he greatly expected this meeting to turn into one such _squabble._

Zexion nodded a greeting to his majesty upon entering the council room. King Amarant was seated at the head of the table as Zexion expected, but the man’s demeanor threw the secretary off: the man seemed oddly amused.

Were it not for his level of familiarity with his Royal Highness, Zexion would not have opened his mouth, but a nagging curiosity got the better of him. “Your Excellency,” he bowed a little lower this time, “you seem rather elated this afternoon. What has you in such a good mood?”

The King smirked at his Royal Secretary, “Why, I’m just happy to see my _son_.” He spat the last word as though he found the taste of it foul.

Knowing better than to question such spite, Zexion motioned his apprentice scribe inside after him, and set up their parchment and inkwells in the corner of the room where, with luck, they could avoid the venom of His Royal Majesty.

Zexion did not envy the prince walking into this den of hostility and malice. No, he was happy enough to sit on the sidelines and document the tempest that was sure to erupt. If the expression on the young heir’s face upon entering the room was any indication, this was sure to be a tempest indeed.

…

Axel wouldn’t exactly say he was proud of the manner in which he chose to confront his father. In retrospect, he should have approached the meeting with reserved contentment at the chance to finally pass along the information he knew his father and country needed to know.

But that would have only made sense.

Axel had a slight problem with allowing his emotions to cloud his judgment on occasion. He knew it and attempted to avoid such occurrences whenever possible, but he was out of practice. After years of not having to deal with someone who could get him riled up so easily, he was no longer used to having to rein himself in before speaking.

Needless to say, he threw open the doors of his father’s council room ready to give the king a firm talking to only to see the bastard’s self-satisfied smirk. Sitting there as though he already knows he is better than me?

Axel saw red. His emotions were telling him to haul back, punch his father’s lights out and be done with it, but he needed to be careful how he approached this. Some of the information Axel possessed could be of great import to the safety of all citizens of Alexandria. While he might not care for those in charge, Axel saw no reason to sacrifice the livelihood of his people to satisfy a petty impulse.

No, he needed to be very careful with how he approached this.

Ergo, rather than unleashing the bubbling rage, Axel slid the chair closest to him out from underneath the ornately decorated table, and sat down. To his surprise, a majority of the seats in the room were occupied. Various advisors, representatives, and nobles sat between Axel and his father. Right in the line of fire, Axel smirked to himself.

He wasn’t confident he could prompt conversation without a snarky or scathing remark, so Axel bit his tongue and waited for the king to call the meeting to order. Several individuals shifted nervously as the tensions in the room rose.

“Well,” Amarant eventually bellowed, “you _demanded_ we drop everything and listen to your tale of woe. So, are you going to speak, or did you simply wish to waste everyone’s time?” While the phrase itself seemed like lighthearted teasing to the other occupants, Axel knew better. It was a poorly concealed threat. This was it.

“Father,” Axel used the familial term purposefully. This was a game of public appearance after all. The winner would be whoever could win over the most council members. Why else collect an audience, after all?

Axel pushed away from the table and stood: the height would give him more credibility in this moment: before he started again. “Father, I happened upon something in my travels that I believe will be of great interest to you.”

He already had them hooked. Some were better actors than others, but every face in the room revealed a level of interest in Axel’s tale. It was time to weave more layers to this web.

“As you know,” he addressed all the individuals at the table, spinning his tale, “I recently returned from my time away at school. As any good future leader would, I used the opportunity to learn about the state of the world as well as traditional studies. This included traveling abroad whenever possible to build my personal understanding of current affairs.”

Almost all the Lords at the table nodded their heads, likely reminiscing on their own travels and time dedicated to scholarly disciplines. The land owners were on his side, now for those with a greater affinity for battle.

“With my birthday fast approaching, I knew I should make my way home, but I took my time following graduation as I had not yet explored my own country. I was incredulous to find that instead of the happy villagers I expected to encounter, I happened upon malcontent.”

Axel paused: partially for dramatic effect, but also because he was not yet sure how he wanted to relay this part of his tale.

“Duke Vivi, who many of you know, welcomed my traveling companion and me into his estate one evening. He regaled us with news of a rising threat to the safety of the individuals under his care. Bandit attacks and spies, he said.”

Axel dipped a practiced hand into a carefully concealed container beneath the table containing battle figurines, and retrieved three to signify enemy combatants. Upon the table, a map of the Kingdom of Alexandria and the surrounding areas spread to either end.

“Vivi says these groups have been sighted along the southern border,” Axel thunked each of his three figurines purposefully in the appropriate location on the map. He lifted his eyes to meet the room.

Varying emotions betrayed themselves down the length of the table: confusion, concern, even horror. All except for the king who gingerly folded his arms across his chest to further amplify his aura of disinterest.

“So we’re to trust the paranoia of an old Duke now, eh?” Amarant quirked a fiery eyebrow at his son who barely held back a sneer in return.

“I was attacked by one such group,” he bit out an added, “ _father_.”

Like a tennis match, every head in the room snapped to one end then the next: waiting in baited anticipation for one of the redheaded men to finally snap.

“One group of bandits is hardly the concern of the Alexandrian military. Especially when you’ve surely already defeated them.”

Axel took a breath, knowing if he spoke immediately his temper would bubble over. The only way to win is to keep a calm head. The prince leveled his eyes with his father. The opinions of the rest of the war council did not matter nearly as much as what the king decided.

Axel exhaled.

“Demyx and I were fortunate enough to capture one of the bandits that attacked us. He claims the men he belongs with are only a small part of a larger movement.” Axel reached beneath the table one more to collect more figures, placing each one as an emphasis to his point.

“Groups of bandits are gathering at the western, eastern, and northern borders as well as the southern. The people living there are starving. They’re organizing a coup. These are not bandits so much as revolutionaries desperate to feed their families, and outraged by the lack of assistance from the capital they gave all their supplies to.”

Most the noblemen circling the table had the dignity to look ashamed. The capital, proudly stationed in the direct center of Alexandria, was the cause of this growing problem. Individuals from their own kingdom were attacking one another just to get food, and no one knew of the problem until this moment.

Axel took in the room. He had them all right where he wanted them, now all he needed was to deliver the killing blow.

“All of us here have allowed this problem to go unnoticed: a problem we unwittingly caused in the first place. We cannot allow our farmers to die off due to starvation, or worse, sacrifice themselves to an unnecessary cause. We have more than enough resources to share with our people. Sending food to the borderlands would put an end to this whole affair without any bloodshed.”

Axel produced a rolled parchment from inside his coat. He’d written it up as soon as he knew of the issues along the border, all in preparation for this moment.

“I’ve already come up with a plan of distribution. It would leave the capital with more than enough resources to make it through the remainder of the winter, and supply the outlying townships with enough food to survive until the ground grows soft enough to plant once again. All I need is everyone’s signature of approval, and we can begin making headway to correct this injustice.”

Axel couldn’t help himself, he beamed with pride. This was his first real opportunity to showcase his leadership skills, and he thought he’d done quite well. Everyone looked impressed, some relieved, all except for his father, of course.

The other redheaded man stood, chuckling. “Quite a speech you gave there, _son_. Did you practice that on the carriage ride home?”

Axel refused to rise to the bait, keeping his face as impassive as he could. He would not let his father get to him.

“Tell me, why should this be any of our concern? I say, let them starve,” King Amarant swept his arm across the table, sending the battle figurines flying. They hit the wall, some cracking at the sudden pressure.

Axel grit his teeth, trying furiously to remain calm. “If we do not send them supplies, then the rebels will attack. These men would rather lose their lives on a fool’s errand than watch their children starve. “

“And they will be crushed by the might of the Alexandrian army.”

Much to Axel’s chagrin, some of the other occupants in the room nodded along with the king. This was the last straw Axel needed to lose his temper on his idiot of a father.

Axel slammed his hands down on the table no longer caring that his emotions were getting the better of him. “So you’re just going to stand there and pretend there’s not a problem? Climb back in bed with your whore and act like everything is alright?”

“What I do or do not do in my bed is none of your business.” The king’s voice rose in both pitch and volume, betraying a temper equal to that of his son’s.

“You made it my business when you were so busy in your bed you couldn’t be bothered to welcome me back after four years.”

Both men stalked around the table to meet each other. The temperature of the room skyrocketed as the rolling waves of their emotions let off enough heat to rival the inside of a furnace.

“Oh, so this is about you, is it? I should have known.”

“Well it’s certainly not about you, or you might actually give a shit. You care nothing for the people you supposedly govern. You care only for whoever warms your bed for the evening.”

“Your Majesties,” a soft, but sharp voice cut through the tension to catch the attentions of the two royals about to resort to physical violence.

Zexion stood at his desk in the corner, ever the quiet observer. He met the eyes of each man in the room before continuing on, “I believe it would be prudent to adjourn this meeting for the evening. Take time to think about what has been discussed, and we will reconvene in two days’ time.”

The finality of his words left no room for discussion or argument. Everyone filed out in an orderly fashion save for the two redheads whose flair for the dramatics led them each to burst through the door and stomp off in opposite directions.

Zexion finished his notes for the meeting, and closed his book with a heavy sigh. Having the prince back in the castle was certainly going to make for quite a… noisy time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The meeting was especially difficult for me to write. Not sure why, but I'm happy with how it came out. I'm excited to write more of this for you guys!


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Be warned that there is some pretty graphic torture in this chapter.
> 
> But also, our boys actually meet for the first time. I wonder how that will go!

My mother liked when I smiled. She said one smile from me could light up the night sky it was so bright. She hated to see me cry, and constantly endeavored to pull a smile out of me once more: using any tactic in her arsenal to elicit even the slightest of grins.

I didn’t smile much these days. I didn’t show many feelings at all, in fact. I didn’t see the point in it anymore. Since the night of my fifteenth birthday, the royals I served under proved time and again that they delighted in my suffering. Sometimes it seemed as though their sole purpose in bedding me was to elicit sounds of distress.

For what purpose? I knew not. It brought them some sort of sick pleasure, I supposed. I refused to give in to them. They were not worth my tears, so I held them back. I would not give them the satisfaction of my screams. And honestly? It made everything else easier.

Detaching myself from all emotion allowed me to slip away from myself entirely. It was almost as though the horrific acts were being experienced by someone else, and I merely witnessed them.

Try as I might, though, there were some situations I could not detach myself from so easily. Not when my arms ached with the weight of holding myself up. Not when my legs shook with the effort of reaching what I could of the floor to alleviate the strain on my arm muscles. Not when my asshole stretched and burned around the foreign intrusion I wished would go away.

No. This predicament was one I was unable to ignore.

I clicked the metal barbell in my mouth against my front teeth as a means of distraction. I had no way of keeping track of the passing time, nor would I care to accurately count the minutes given my current predicament: but if I had to venture a guess, I would say the king did not return for upwards of three hours.

He signaled his arrival with a resounding _thwap_ as the wooden door slammed open against stone walls. Amarant’s frame filled the doorway, giving the impression of a bear that had successfully cornered his prey. I suppose that makes me the prey, huh? To say so would not be entirely inaccurate.

Wordlessly, he circled my aching form. I shook. Whether from fear, strain, or the cold I could not quite tell. My limbs begged for release, though my tongue refused to voice such sentiments. No, this was a waiting game, and I refused to lose.

I must say that I generally pride myself on being able to hide my reactions to things; I have mastered the art of internalizing what I feel rather than expressing it. However, when something is so completely unexpected that it startles me as much as it hurts, I find myself unable to hide my reactions.

Nothing will ever convince me this is not the reason the king chose to torture me the way he did.

It came without warning. No sound to announce it; nothing in my sightline to suggest its arrival. Nothing to help me prepare for the stinging, ripping, hellish sensation of a whip landing across my back.

Already weak from holding up my own weight, I did not have the strength to keep lifting myself when the first lash struck. I fell upon the Judas Chair, fiery pain flaring across my nerves and filling my brain with nothing but white sparks of agony.

I refused to scream. I refused to cry. I refused to give in.

I repeated the mantra to myself over and over and over again to somehow escape the blinding pain arching across my back. My toes splayed across the floor when the second lash struck in an attempt to steady myself: no such luck.

I curled my hands around the chains binding them in anticipation of number three. I still jumped. Nothing helped. I couldn’t squirm away because any motion agitated the invasive object in my ass. I couldn’t prepare my mind for the pain because I could not see when or where he would strike next. I was helpless to this monster’s abuse.

I counted twenty-one strikes before I slipped into the refuge of unconsciousness.

…

I have never begrudged the darkness of unconsciousness its uncanny ability to let me float along unaware of myself. I’ve always found it… almost freeing. Being able to exist, but not exist at the same time: not thinking, not dreaming, simply being. It has often been a pleasant escape for me following the hellish nightmares I’ve been subject to over the years.

Existing in the realm of nothingness, I was only vaguely aware of a stinging sensation. At first, it was not unpleasant, simply there. Like an apple someone plucked from a tree, but left uneaten on the ground. Its presence is not greatly affecting anyone, and the owner might return for it if it was ever of any importance to them to have said apple, but until such a time, few passersby would even spare it a glance.

It’s just there.

Unlike a discarded apple, though, the stinging sensation became more persistent: as though it has somehow recognized my ability to acknowledge but ignore it and wanted me to realize it is not going away. The sensation increased, stinging its way into my lack of consciousness, disturbing what weightless moment of peace I’d been able to find for myself in this frightening world.

The stinging grew, as though the entirety of the bee’s nest mom told me about (the one in the oak tree near our cabin) had been shoved inside the nothingness with me and threatened to overtake my entire body.

The stinging covered me, transitioning into pain. It stung and burned and ached, ripping me from my weightless cocoon and into conscious anguish.

I bit my bottom lip to keep from screaming, though I knew my face gave away more emotion than I ever wanted anyone to see. What was the cause of this inferno of suffering?

I was no longer suspended from the ceiling by my wrists, but rather lay face down, prone and unshackled on the unforgiving stone floor. I found no human form in my line of sight, but rather felt the overbearing presence of the king behind me: unsurprising as he seems to continually be the cause of my torment.

Without warning, before I’d fully registered what was even happening, the stinging of my back became an all-consuming fire, eating its way through both body and mind. My mouth flew open into a silent scream as I writhed against the stone.

My mind kicked back to its most primal instincts as the overwhelming desire to flee took control. I needed to get away from… whatever this was.

I tried crawling toward the other end of the room, but a hand stopped me. This meaty, familiar hand firmly gripped my thigh, dragging me backwards into his clutches.

“And just where do you think you’re going?” King Amarant hissed, slapping my ass for good measure. “I’m not done with you yet.”

Not done _torturing_ me for some inconceivable reason he’s managed to justify to himself. The sadistic bastard.

If escape wasn’t an option, then I needed to steel myself for what was to come. I can never give him the satisfaction of knowing he gets to me. Even if sometimes the pain seems like too much to ignore.

Now fully conscious and all too aware of what this man’s intentions were, it didn’t take long to discern what exactly he was doing to cause me so much pain.

Adding insult to injury, the king was rubbing salt into the open lashes across my back.

What did I even do to deserve this? I never wanted this life, but I never truly fought against it. I always let the king do whatever he wanted to me without complaint. I played the perfect, subservient slave he wanted me to be. So why was this happening? Was raping me not enough anymore? He needed to torture me as well.

When I first found myself within the royal bedchambers, the king brought me into this very same room decently often to “train” me. Typically when I talked back or did not perform up to his or his wife’s standards. Though they tended to choose punishments, sorry “training sessions”, of a more sexual nature. It was humiliating, and degrading, and horrible, but had never been outright torture.

Not until now.

I hadn’t felt a pain like this since the king ordered his brand placed upon me. My back seared in absolute, fiery suffering.

I could hardly think straight, the pain addling my mind, when after what felt like years to me, the king wrenched me from the ground, throwing my tunic and trousers at me, and told me to leave.

I stumbled into the hallway, dressing hastily, trying my best not to let my tunic irritate the inflamed wounds on my back.

I could only assume it was quite late into the night as only a few of the torches along the hallway were still lit, but it would have to do. One hand on the wall to steady myself, I began the lengthy, agonizing trudge back to my room.

…

Axel knew he had a temper. Not only because countless individuals felt the need to tell him to rein it in on a near daily basis (mostly Aerith), but also because he recognized the same trait in his father, and it was part of what made him despise the man.

Axel did not agree with how his father chose to rule. The man was a tyrant. He loved nothing and no one except his own vices: particularly his harem.

Though it was a long standing tradition for Alexandrian nobles to send a daughter to the court harem as a means of gaining favor with the King, Axel highly doubted he would continue the tradition. Something about the whole thing just seemed… wrong.

Sure, the women of the harem were treated spectacularly: they lived in undeniable luxury. And they were all there by choice, so it wasn’t like they were trapped against their will or anything, but how can anyone in good conscience live their entire lives having sex with a man who is married to someone else?

Maybe Axel’s views on the matter were too conservative, but he felt like two people in a marriage were meant to pleasure one another, not fill their carnal needs through another. Plus, was his father so stupidly horny that he needed to have sex with someone every single night?

Axel had always hated the whole affair.

Logically, he knew that was not the actual reason he was pacing the halls late at night still fuming. No, he was upset at his father and his blatant lack of concern for the safety and security of his subjects. It just so happens, that Axel has now mentally linked this lack of concern to his father’s constant desire for sex and Axel’s own distaste with the harem as a concept.

So while Axel is frustrated with his father and worried about the people of Alexandria, this does nothing to stop him from taking out his anger at the first available outlet.

Axel shut the door to Demyx’s guest room behind him, careful not to wake the snoring blonde. The other man had passed out after his first pint of mead, weary from the day’s travel. Axel would have loved to show his friend more of the castle grounds now that everyone else was asleep and would not stop them, but he supposed they would have to wait until the morning.

Axel was far from pleased to be back in his childhood home, but he would be lying if he said there weren’t things he’d missed about the place: Aerith, for one. It’d been a treat to get to see her again. He could not wait to regale the woman with tales of his studies and travels.

Though he could not allow himself to relax until he got through to his father. He needed to make the man see reason, but how?

Axel mused over possible conversations as he made his trek through the castle. The guest wing was not terribly far from the royal bedchambers, but Axel would be lying is he said he didn’t intentionally take the scenic route in hopes the night air would help him find a solution to his current troubles.

Rounding yet another corner of the numerous hallways within the castle, temper still flaring somewhere in the back of his consciousness, Axel was wholly unprepared for the sight before him. Leaning against the wall, looking far too smug in Axel’s opinion, was the boy from that morning. The boy he saw that morning with his parents. In his parents’ bed. Having _sex_ with his _parents_.

This. This boy was the reason his father didn’t meet him when he arrived this morning. This was the person his father would rather have sex with than do his actual job? This was who his father cared for more than the fate of his other subjects? This… this _boy_?

Misplaced as it may have been, Axel felt all his rage from earlier in the day ignite anew.

“You there,” he called to the blonde before he himself even realized what he was doing. The boy lifted his head, icy blue eyes meeting fiery green. “Just what do you think you’re doing?” Axel stalked toward boy, the sound of boots clacking against stone echoing through the deserted hallways.

“I'm sorry?” There it was: the cool, unaffected tone that only someone who thought themselves superior to everyone around them seemed to maintain. People like that _aggravated_ Axel to no end. It took what remained of his inner strength to not haul off and smack the kid.

Instead, Axel inhaled sharply through his nose before biting out amidst grit teeth, “What do you think you’re doing?”

The blonde had the audacity to look annoyed as though Axel were nothing more than a bothersome fly buzzing about his head: or else something equally disgusting and unworthy of his attention.

“I’m trying to go to bed. If you’ll pardon me…” the boy placed his hand against Axel’s chest as if to push past the prince. Something about the motion, or perhaps the realization that such a filthy creature dare to lay his hand upon him, caused an unprecedented surge of fury to flood through him.

Unprompted by defined thought, Axel’s hand sliced upward gripping the smaller male’s wrist in a bruising hold and pinning the offensive appendage against the stone wall. He snarled unbidden in a rather undignified, un-princely fashion.

“That is no way to speak to your prince,” Axel barked. For his part, the blonde looked as terrified as Axel hoped he would. “I demand to know what you think you’re doing sleeping with the King and Queen? Clearly you must have tricked or seduced them in some way, and I want to know why. What are you trying to get from them?”

“You don’t know what you’re talking about, okay? Now if you would stand aside, all I want right now it to go to bed.”

“I find that hard to believe. No, I know your type, you _whore_. You care for nothing but your own selfish desires, manipulating those around you to get what you want, spreading your legs for whoever is willing to cater to your whims. You disgust me. Go find someone else to prey on, you filth. I will not allow a slutty piece of trash like you to defile this great kingdom. Now, get out of my sight before I decide to dispose of you like the garbage you are.”

Axel slammed his shoulder into the smaller man crashing the other into the wall. The blonde let out a pained whine, but Axel ignored it and stormed off down the hallway. Let the slut be in pain. He deserved it.

…

I’m not sure what else I expected. Differing theology, same cruelty. The young prince may look down upon the existence of the royal harem, but he certainly delighted in causing pain to others if the fire lacing up my lacerated back was any indication. His words alone cut much like his father’s whip.

I allowed my form to give in to the gravity grasping at me with leaden fingers and slid down the wall. I curled into a protective ball as though someone else was sure to come along and inflict more pain. Honestly, it wouldn’t be the first time.

I grit my teeth in a grim refusal to allow any tears to fall. The contemptible prince was hardly worth the blow to my remaining pride. The pain was hardly new to me, and I’d surely endured worse insults in my time at the palace.

I remained huddled against the cool stone wall until I calmed enough for my breathing to even out. Arduous as I knew the trek to my vague semblance of a room would be, it was far preferable to spending an evening in the corridors. Any manner of nare-do-well could pass by and fancy himself lucky for the opportunity to engage with the King’s favored bed-warmer.

I shivered at the thought.

I climbed my way back upright, unsurprised by the sensation of my now ruined cream tunic clinging to the sticky mess of blood my back had become. I grimaced at the realization that I would once again need to ask Hayner to procure a new one for me. I hated the thought of my only friend within the castle risking his own neck to get me anything.

Early on in our interactions, I suggested Hayner distance himself from me to keep out of trouble. He slapped the back of my head in response. According to him, everyone needs someone who cares about them, and since it was so obvious that no one else cared about me, he appointed himself to bear that burden. Of course that made me cry. That was back when I still let myself feel things like love.

Hayner wouldn’t be happy about my current state. I usually tried to clean myself up a bit before he came to visit, but I doubted I had the energy for anything other than collapsing onto my sad little pile of hay. Meager as it may be, nothing in the world sounded nearly as glorious right then.

I thudded against the thin wooden door of my storage room with a sigh of relief. I made it. The sight that greeted me after opening the door, however, rendered my relief premature.

There was nothing in the room.

Given, there had never been much in the room since it was cleared out for my use, but I’d always had a place to sleep. First it was the cot I lost for speaking back to Queen, next the pile of hay that was scratchy, but far more comforting than the often wet stone of the floor. I even used to have a threadbare blanket Hayner stole for me one particularly harsh winter when the wind refused to cease blowing snow in through the barred opening at the top of my hovel.

All gone. All of it. My blanket, my pile of hay, all sense of comfort I had in this dismal place, gone.

I collapsed on the floor, unable to bear the pressures of my life any longer, and let my eyelids fall close for a much needed rest.

…

Over the years, Hayner has witnessed Roxas in all manner of pitiable states. The boy he came to think of as a good friend was often injured in some manner, though nothing came anywhere close to being as horrific as the night they met. Hayner frequently prayed to gods of various religions to keep his friend safe: he hoped he would never have to see Roxas that hurt again.

Still, a bolt of panic sparked its way through Hayner’s body any time he received summons to treat the other blonde. Something deep within him always wondered the worst; _would this time be the one that finally killed his friend?_

Despite the anxiety threatening to overwhelm him, Hayner gathered whatever supplies he thought he might need, and took off running to the other side of the castle.

Without fail, as Hayner pushed open the door to the converted storage room, his stomach turned with simultaneous horror and relief. Roxas was most certainly still alive and breathing: _relief._ Yet he lay prone on the floor, cut and bleeding almost to the extent of that first night: _horror_.

Hayner sneered at the otherwise empty room: was there nothing these people would not take from the poor blue eyed one? Not even the blanket Hayner stole for him was left to keep the boy warm. At this rate he would freeze before the end of next winter.

But that was a problem for another day as the frost for this year had already begun to thaw, and there were far more pressing concerns: namely his friend’s unconscious state and blood soaked tunic. The blood was too far up the boy’s back to have been caused by the standard anal tears, and something like the brand he’d been given years ago would not produce this volume of liquid.

That meant he’d been tortured; likely without any reason.

Hayner set his basket of supplies next to Roxas to first take his vitals. His heart rate was high. Hayner suspected his blood pressure had dropped due to the blood loss. Hayner grimaced with the knowledge that he was ill equipped to do much about it. He didn’t have the training or the supplies.

He would do what he could, though.

He’d only just started applying a healing salve when Roxas’s eyes shot open. He propped himself up on his elbows, breathing labored, eyes darting around the room. He took in the sight of Hayner, the familiar face causing him to relax immediately.

Roxas gently set his head in his friend’s lap letting the other boy continue his task. The two sat in silence for a good long while. It wasn’t until Hayner began applying bandages to the smaller boy’s lacerations that the blue eyed blonde spoke.

The whisper was so faint Hayner asked him to repeat himself twice before he discerned the words.

“He hates me,” Roxas sounded on the verge of tears, though Hayner knew better. His friend refused to cry: refused to show any emotion that might be used against him.

“The King? Yeah, I could’ve guessed as much,” Hayner ran his fingers through blonde spikes to soothe the other.

“No,” the blonde shook his head, “not the King. The Prince.”

He twisted around as much as his back would allow to look up into the young apprentice’s comforting brown eyes. “I don’t know why I had hope for a brighter future, but he’s just like his father. They are terrible, horrible, awful, cruel men who hate me and just want to hurt me and I don’t even know why. What did I ever do to deserve their hatred?”

Hayner knew there wasn’t an answer. Not one that would make his friend feel any better without being a lie, at least.

“Nothing. You deserve so much better than this.”

It was that night, running his fingers through his injured friend’s hair as the boy nodded off, that Hayner decided once and for all he was going to get Roxas out of this palace if it was the last thing he did.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading. Reviews are welcome!
> 
> As Always,
> 
> Ali


End file.
